In the film Miss Potter, Beatrix’s character has a conversation with her parents in which her mother makes a rather disagreeable reference to her age. Her reply has been in my heart ever since: 

“At my age, mother, every day matters.

She was thirty-two.

Every day matters too much not to spend it on—or at least working towards—that which we love!

Every day matters too much to squander it in fretting and hurry…

…to center our thoughts—and consequently our lives—upon anything but the True, the Good, and the Beautiful!

…to fill our minds, our mouths, our homes with anything that is ugly or unnecessary!

Every day matters too much to waste a second of it worrying about what ‘they’ think…(in his great treatise on ‘Economy’, Thoreau directs one of his most pointed barbs at the notion of pleasing anyone but oneself in the matter of dress. When confronted with his seamstress’ dismay at the requested cut of his suit and her subsequent—and inevitable—remark that ‘They do not make them so now’, he ponders what is a puzzle to him in his inimitable style: “…That I may find out by what degree of consanguinity They are related to me, and what authority they may have in an affair which affects me so nearly; and finally, I am inclined to answer her with equal mystery…‘It is true, they did not make them so recently, but they do now.’”)

Each day is too precious to parcel ourselves off in ‘principles’ and ‘priorities’, to live in anything but a glad abandon of our whole selves—with all our fears, longings, desires and joys—to the God who gave us life. He knows it all.

He’s the reason it matters.